


tonight the sky is calling

by lavenderseaslug



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:48:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2664230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderseaslug/pseuds/lavenderseaslug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One wouldn’t think that a crime scene would be the most likely spot for flirtatious glances and subtle innuendo, but over the past year, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson found nothing so romantic as when the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher looked up at him from a blanketed corpse with a sunny smile on her face after locating a hidden clue. Her delicate hands, encased in white gloves, entranced him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tonight the sky is calling

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, this was going to be something else. Instead, it's this.

One wouldn’t think that a crime scene would be the most likely spot for flirtatious glances and subtle innuendo, but over the past year, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson found nothing so romantic as when the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher looked up at him from a blanketed corpse with a sunny smile on her face after locating a hidden clue. Her delicate hands, encased in white gloves, entranced him.

His office had never felt like a particularly amorous place, but then Miss Fisher would swan in and find excuses to get too close. Whether it was to examine his notes over his shoulder, with her breath ghosting on his cheek, or it was to sit on the edge of his desk to share her latest idea that would undoubtedly crack the case wide open, her presence in his office made it the most romantic place in the world.

But it was always after these moments, later, when the body was disposed of and the case was well and truly closed that had the unmistakable air of _something more._ Her gaze over the rim of a tumbler of whisky, her voice quiet and reassuring, this was the Phryne he was privileged to see.

And on this night, she had offered up the very flimsy excuse of cold feet to slide her bare toes under his thigh, a daring gesture that he could see delighted her. Physical contact between them was never innocent, and he could feel every slight movement under his legs and wondered if the woman next to him knew how much her squirming appendages were affecting him. One look at her slightly quirked mouth and raised eyebrows confirmed that she did.

“Something the matter, Jack?” she asked, her innocent tone belying the fact that she’d edged her foot even further forward.

In lieu of answering, he reached down to clasp her ankle, marveling that his fingers could entirely encircle the delicate join. He heard her breath catch and he slid his hand up her calf, slowly, looking up to meet her eyes with a half-lidded gaze.

The clock chimed a late hour, but neither made any move, their eyes never breaking contact. Jack pulled her foot from underneath his leg and placed it on his lap, gently pushing his thumbs into the sole, enjoying that, for once, he had the edge up on the woman beside him. She extricated her other foot and let it fall atop his thigh, dangerously close to his groin, but he said nothing, and she simply looked at him with wide, innocent eyes and a smirking mouth.

Even after a year of foreplay, this was new and different and Jack felt they were teetering on a precipice, unsure of what was waiting for them at the bottom. He moved his hands to her other foot, continuing his ministrations as she watched him. He felt the way he imagined a mouse felt when being stalked by a cat. And with feline grace, Phryne slid towards him, dislodging his hands as she leaned her chest against his arm, and her hands grasping his now-idle ones. She examined the carefully, mirroring her actions when she’d read his palm those months ago.

“I know quite a few less than reputable establishments that would be furious to know that a man of your position was in possession of such talented hands,” she purred, smiling up at him. His breath caught now, because it wasn’t the bright smile of the day, or the wistful smile when he excused himself at the end of the night, but a feral smile that told him she wanted nothing more than to keep his hands all to herself.

He stuttered slight, unsure of where to go from here. Phryne seemed stymied as well, merely dropping her head heavily on his shoulder, entwining her fingers with his. She felt real and solid next to him, and it felt much more intimate, somehow, than any other activities he might dream up. A quiet and contemplative Phryne Fisher was not something many had the opportunity to be; they were usually caught between her frivolity and her grins; she shielded herself with a sunny outlook and an effervescent personality that was rarely out of place.

And then he felt the ghost of her breath on his neck. “Phryne…,” he whispered, saying her name for the first time not out of fear or panic, but just to say it because she was there, next to him. She raised her head, meeting his gaze squarely, making sure there were no doubts as she leaned forward and placed her lips on his, a kiss that was as much a question as anything else.

Their hands were caught between them and Jack struggled to disengage his fingers so that he could lose them in the fine black strands of her hair. She seemed equally as eager to have a hand free to dance at the nape of his neck.

He felt no doubts as her mouth opened under his, as her fingers toyed with the button at his collar, as her leg swung over his lap, as she firmly straddled him on the chaise in her parlor. When she pulled back, his hands slid down her sides, planting themselves on her hips, anchoring her where she sat. She looked down at him, enjoying the vantage point as she ran her hands through his hair.

“You can still leave, you know. It’s not too late, the neighbors’ tongues won’t be wagging, I don’t think.” She was giving him an out and he loved her for it. She knew her noble Jack Robinson, but this time, he was going to stay, for as long as she would have him. “I’m not asking you to leave, however,” she amended, as if worried he get the wrong idea.

“And I’m not asking to leave,” he said finally, and kissed her then, a slow sweet kiss. It seemed only natural then, when she stood and offered her hand, to take it and be led upstairs.

Jack would have been able to guess which room was Phryne’s bedroom even if he didn’t know her as intimately as he did now. It was sumptuous and gaudy, but also warm and inviting. It smelled like her, he noticed, the familiar and welcome scent tickling his nostrils, even as he buried his nose in her hair.

She began to divest him of his clothes, the armor he wore against the world, the uniform that told them who he was. She deliberately undid each button, savoring the expanse of skin she was revealing slowly, so achingly slowly. And then her capable hands were on the bare skin of his abdomen, one skating around to splay across the muscles of his back. He felt breathless, knowing how clinical she could be at a crime scene, wondering how creative she could be in the bedroom.

He began a thorough examination of her neck, her breath coming more quickly as he bit at her jaw, nibbled at her clavicle, and let his hands slide underneath her silk shirt.

They fell back on the bed, still mostly clothed, but seemed to be in competition for who could bare the other first. Jack was sure he heard rips and snags, but so caught up was he in exposing more of Phryne’s pale skin that clothes bore no impact on his mind except as something to be disposed of.

When their frenzy subsided, Phryne had against straddled him as he lay back against her pillows. Her hands explored the terrain of his chest and shoulders, sliding down his arms and catching his hands, only to bring them up above his head, holding them in place as she leaned down to kiss him squarely on the mouth.

She let go of her hold in favor of tousling his hair, something, it seemed, she’d become newly enamored of, and he gathered his wits enough to participate, cupping her small breasts, thumbs teasing her gently.

Panting, she pulled back and stared down at him. Unhurriedly, she maneuvered herself over his length, lowering herself with practiced slowness, her mouth open slightly as she watched him through lust-clouded eyes. He was in awe of her, her confidence, her prowess, her fearlessness. And he felt timid and small in the face of her magnificence.

As if reading his mind, she moved her hips ever so slightly and said, “It’s not a test, Jack. There are no wrong answers, and I’ve never been one for comparisons.”

Emboldened by her words, he thrust up to meet her and was gratified to hear her gasp. They moved together, slow and close. As he shuddered towards release, she kissed him again, her hand traveling to where they were joined, teasing him, toying with him, and he let out a guttural sound as he spent himself. He flipped her over, then, surprising an unladylike squeak from her as his fingers thrust into her, taking the place of his flaccid member. Slowly circling and pulling and pushing and touching and teasing and toying, he could see it all building as she fisted her hands in the sheets and he felt in awe that he was the one to bring her to this. And then she let go, her body taut as a bow string, her mouth open, eyes closed. And just as suddenly, her body slackened and she looked up at him with dark eyes.

“I meant what I said, Jack. I know a lot of establishments that would pay well to have use of hands as talented as yours.”


End file.
